by Prue Batten
Liam glanced at what she held and then leaned forward and took it from her. He seemed lost in memories for a moment but then handed the feather back. ‘You keep it. It is a swan-maid’s feather. Some day when you most need help, stroke it and call to Maeve. She owes the holder of the feather one task. When she has performed it to your satisfaction, give her the feather back and tell her she is free.’
‘Maeve,’ Adelina recalled the cold-natured Other. ‘Me? Can I do that?’
‘Indeed, have you not already mastered a wand and charm? Besides, I don’t need it. I have my own glamour. You may put it to good use in the future.’
Adelina thanked him and set about sewing it onto her present garment. Where the toile indicated a water bird floating on a still lake, she stitched the feather carefully into the pattern. It blended beautifully. Biting the thread off with her teeth, she glanced at the sun, now high in the sky. ‘Tuh,’ she grunted. ‘Kholi has been gone over long. I wonder where he is?’
Liam pushed himself up from the step. ‘I shall go retrieve our desert warrior. You put your kettle to boil. I’m sure he will want a mug of that loathsome Raji coffee when he returns.’
Chapter Thirty Five
Severine had closed the distance between the two parties. Arising long before dawn, at that moment when one lone bird whistles to herald the faint brightening of the sky, she and Luther had eaten a sparse meal, mounted and set off at an easy, mile-covering lope. They had no interest in the beauty of the sky as it bled through apricots, mauves, and pinks to eventually become an unsullied blue devoid of cloud. Nor did they notice the scent of herb and blossom as they cantered along the highway leaving a skirl of leaves in their wake. Their focus was total.
Immediately ahead, smoke was curling in a delicate funnel into the sky and it articulated just what Severine hoped for and expected. That Adelina, the Faeran and the excrescent desert man would be lazy and unaware, ripe for the picking.
‘Madame, stay here and I’ll scout.’ Luther jumped from his horse and tied it to a tree. They had halted far enough away for the scent of their own animals not to reach the noses of the beasts in the encampment and he reached into his saddlebags to pocket a garrotte. Stealth was all and Luther was a master.
He crept away and Severine found her stomach filled with butterflies. She dismounted and led her mare to the tree and tied it together with the other, then leaned against the rough bark of the cork oak and gnawed at her black riding glove. By tonight she would have two Faeran souls, a stitcher and a Faeran robe. The souls would be sewn into the folds and when worn, the essence would slip between the warp and weft and into her skin. Absorbed into her bloodstream, to be carried around her body like life-giving air, filling every corner with immortality. She shook her head and jumped from her revery as Luther tapped her on the shoulder, the other hand placing fingers to his lips.
‘Madame,’ he whispered, ‘the Faeran has just left to find the Raji. He goes west along the edge of the rill. It is a simple thing to catch him.’
‘Then let’s go quickly. We’ll worry about the woman later. You know what you must do if the Raji gets in my way.’
Luther led off and Severine followed in his footsteps, her soft boots making no sound. Dressed in tight-fitting men’s riding clothes, there was nothing to grab at the undergrowth and cause unwelcome noise. Wisely she had chosen shades of verdancy that blended with the dancing shadows of the shrubbery. She was like a nymph, a woodland sprite; more Other than mortal, she could feel it in her bones. She fingered her right hand, the dented gold band sliding round her middle finger, and she mouthed its inscription as she stepped behind Luther. ‘My circle is a syphon for a soul.’
Liam had trekked a half a mile following the rill and the faint trail left by Kholi. His strength seeped away, grief soaking it up like a sponge but his promise to find the his friend and bring him back kept him walking, albeit slowly, one foot in front of the other. The water trickled by his side, its crystal depths clear and reflecting the morning light like mirrors from the Venichese markets. Above him the birds chimed and trilled and filled the forest with their melodies. Like the Weald, Luned birdsong had a surreal quality, bell-like, tuneful, mellifluous. The sound fluttered about Liam’s ears - descants and harmonies. But suddenly he picked up on a discord... a song reminding him of the melodies of the roanes of Pymm. It set an Other’s teeth on edge and they would have travelled far from the song but to a mortal Liam knew it would sound sweet and enticing, gentle music to dance by. Melody to entrap and ensnare.
He ran in the direction of the spine-chilling sound, a terror filling his heart, just for a moment replacing the dark pain. Jumping over the roots and lichen covered logs, he burst into a small clearing by the side of the rill. ‘Stop, veela! Leave him, I order you!’
Kholi-Khatoun was about to reach his hand for that of the woman before him. To Kholi she was Adelina in her mellow autumnal clothes - exactly those his lover had been wearing when he left her at dawn. Her eyes were exactly Adelina’s as they turned their seductive gaze upon the hapless man.
But she was a shape-shifting veela, one of those frivolous Others who hung about rill and stream, trail and track, waiting to ensnare an innocent mortal male. Like the Ganconer, they would seduce the passing innocent with their beauty and a casual bedding would cause a sighing sickness, the unfortunate left to wander the wilds completely out of his mind with love and lust. He would starve, for no food held sustenance, only the touch of the veela. He would die of exhaustion because he must wander constantly without sleep, searching for this unearthly love. Should Kholi’s hand touch that of the veela, he would become a lost soul.
‘Veela, leave him! Take your hand away!’ Liam spoke in the language of the Others, his own hand beginning to rise.
She had stopped singing as he jumped into the glade and she cast such a look of hatred at him. She growled, her voice gutteral and gravelly, at odds with the smooth face and the large blue eyes. Her flowing hair rippled with a life of its own in the welkin wind. Should one look close upon her, there flickered a cruel whiteness, a selfish glint in the eye betraying hunger for a game of seduction and sex.
‘I said move away! He is mine and you shall not have him.’
‘Liam of the Faeran craves men, not women?’ The veela snarled in reply.
‘MOVE!’
The woman spat at him and stood, tall and blanched with anger. Her mouth curved in a sabre-shaped scowl and her ice-coloured eyes cast daggered glances at him. But she turned her back and left the clearing, her hair flying whip-like in the air. She faded into the shadow of the trees to prevail again upon some other luckless journeyman.
Liam leaped to Kholi’s side. The Raji’s eyes were vacant, his expression dull. He could have been a dead husk had one not seen his chest rising and falling like a man who dreams of coupling with the love of his life. Liam wiped his hand through the air and Kholi’s eyes filled with surprise as they noted his friend standing in front of him. ‘Hah my fellow, it is good to see you out and about. Come to join me, have you?’
‘In a manner of speaking.’ Liam relayed Kholi’s almost fatal confrontation with the veela.
‘Hell’s teeth! I swear all I saw was Adelina. By afrits, Liam, she sounds like the Aicha Kandida in my own home. Seduction and hate, it’s all one. My friend, I owe you my life.’ Kholi grabbed him and kissed him on each cheek.
‘You owe me nothing. It is one friend caring for another.’ Liam turned away, not wanting his confusion to be observed. Perhaps friends are enough. Is that what Ana would want? For me to be a part of life with these people? But no, I cannot, will not ever imagine wanting to live without her. It is not to be borne. His twisted, dented emotions tipped over the abyss and the final, deadly thought rose from the darkness and grabbed him. A simple thought. I want to die. Without her I am nothing.
A creeping blackness spread, filling every bit of his mind, allowing no space for sane rationale. He had seen Kholi’s curved scimitar at his side and imagined h
ow quickly he could end it all by falling on the blade. He was now ‘mortal’ after all, a man who has no Faeran bane. And as he turned back toward Kholi, his hand began to mesmer in order to pilfer the weapon.
But someone had beaten him to it.
He cursed his selfishness, the brooding that had channelled his senses far beyond the clearing. Kholi’s scimitar lay on the ground and he leaned back against the massive body of a thug, away from pressure at his neck. Already Liam could see beads of bright blood forming a decoration as Kholi strained his chin upwards. There against his skin, exerting its awful, lethal strength, was the fine wire which was a gittern string. Kholi’s eyes were wide, fingers clawing at the constraint.
The insanity that had gripped Liam moments before switched instantly. Like a firestorm when the wind changes, flames leapt high to demolish all in their path. He ran forward with a banshee scream. The sucking sound of a sword being drawn filled the glade as he raised his hand in a death-mesmer.
But a high-pitched shout cut across the shimmering sound like the crack of whip... a voice he knew and which filled him with forboding, his murderous hand falling away. ‘I think not, Liam. Shall you try any of your tricks then the garrotte will surely slice through the Raji’s neck like a harpsichord wire through cheese.’
He swung round.
Severine stood by the side of a drooping waterbeech. She smiled her thin smile. ‘Good morning, sir. I think you will agree it is now I who has the advantage, so I think we shall have less of your arrogance than when we met the other day.’
Liam’s lip curled at the woman. ‘What do you want? It can be nothing from him, surely. A mortal?’
‘He doesn’t matter, you are right. It’s what I want from you that matters. Do you know what that is?’
He didn’t answer, everything had become exceptionally clear, every thought as evident as if were written on the most pristine parchment.
She laughed and the high-pitched sound fell like harsh splinters. Shivers rippled up his spine as Fate and Destiny conspired against him. Jasper was right, one could never gainsay them.
‘Liam,’ Severine continued quite calmly. ‘I would like you to kneel on the ground with your hands behind you where they can do absolutely no harm. That’s it.’
‘Let the Raji go. He can be of no use. I know what you want.’
‘Well, you see, I really don’t have to do anything you say. If you move, the desert man is dead. You have absolutely nothing to bargain with. Not even your life, because that is forfeit as you know. So be quiet and let me get on with what I came to do.’
Severine began to strip off the glove of the right hand and Liam fixed on her slow movements, his heart missing two, three, four beats.
She reached for the middle finger of her right hand and eased the gold ring off.
He thought of Ana, of her begging, ‘Unmesmer her, Liam, please!’
Holding the ring to the sunlight Severine waggled it around and spoke quite pleasantly. ‘Do you know what this is? Ah, I see you do. Then you know what I will do. Does it matter do you think? Are you afraid? Will you be missed?’
Kholi struggled and began to curse but the garotte tightened and Liam yelled. ‘SILENCE, KHOLI. BE SILENT.’
‘Yes, be quiet, you filth.’ Severine turned on Kholi for a moment. ‘If you don’t then I shall have my man take Adelina’s lovely throat and play a gittern tune on that as well. All I want is this man’s soul, it’s not a lot to ask for, is it?’
Kholi’s eyes bulged and he looked across at Liam, horror imprinted in every crease on the man’s face.
Slowly Severine brought the ring to her eye and positioned it so she could see Liam through it. She whispered and he waited, Fate ringing carillons of bells in his heart and in his ears.
‘My circle is a syphon for a soul.’
It was as if his skin stretched towards her. Momentarily he experienced the harshest ripping sensation, as though all his skin was being flayed, stripped and torn, bloody and soft, from the living body, and he cried out with cruelty of it. It happened with unnatural speed. In an instant, the life force inside him shrivelled to a point somewhere over his heart and as he fell into a far deeper blackness than the grief that had gripped him earlier, he realised he didn’t care at all. He should. Oh, how he should. He should care about Kholi and Adelina and what Severine might do, but he knew this was the answer for him.
All his life, things had been less than perfect, less than fulfilling. Until he met Ana. And for just a short moment, a mere speck of time in the infinite passing of life in the universe, it was actually more than perfection if only he’d had the sense to recognize it. As his soul began to curl away from his earthly form and pucker and twist, he realised he had only been destined to hold perfection for a second.
His soul burst into the air with a slight popping sound, sighing as it sped toward the ring in a glistening sable stream and Ana’s name flew from his lips, his body toppling forward, eyes screwed shut, twisted with the paroxysm of unimaginable pain.
Kholi wanted so badly to cry out. He uttered muffled cries as he watched Severine slide the soul into a chamois bag.
‘What, what?’ She broke from her rhapsodical weighing of the bag of souls and turned, nodding to Luther to let off some of the tension on the wire.
‘Why?’ The single word grated from a throat scraped raw. His heart had broken as he watched Liam murdered before his eyes. I could do nothing…
‘By Behir, do you know nothing, you piece of camel dung?’ She slipped the ring back on her finger. ‘This is a soul-syphon. It gathers Faeran souls on a special command.’
‘Why?’ He almost cried, so great was the pain and shock. Liam had emptied of life like a pitcher held so the water could be poured out.
‘Why, why?’ Severine mimicked his accent. ‘Because possession of two Faeran souls is the most valued thing in the world. Better than a kings’ ransom. Because, you grubby piece of desert dirt, it gives me immortality. Two immortal souls give one mortal infinite life.’ She tossed the bag from one hand to another in front of him but then stopped as she glanced at Kholi.
‘What,’ she shouted, signalling to Luther. He pulled Kholi to stand straighter by tightening the garotte again. ‘Tell me,’ she snarled in his face, some spittal hitting his cheek which twitched as he answered.
As strong and defiant as he could manage, stronger even than the man who had stood in front of Bellingham the day he had tried to rape Ana, he sneered. ‘Then you must search more, woman.’ The words croaked out like a man who had wandered the Amritsands without water. ‘Because with Liam’s soul, you do not have what you seek.’
‘What say you?’ She grabbed Kholi’s shirt and pulled at it so he stumbled toward her, the garotte cutting further so the beads became a steady stream. He swallowed, knowing nothing he could do now would help the situation. His heart ached as he thought of Adelina back at the van waiting for he and Liam to return. He thought of big hairy Mogu, of Lalita.
‘WHAT!’ Severine screamed in his face, shrieking like the Symmer wind. Her eyes were filled with a fury that reminded Kholi of ancient tales of the fires of damnation.
‘Because Liam gave up his immortality,’ He smiled as the woman’s jaw dropped, wanting to fatally wound her, to cut out her heart and feed it to the dogs, to strike her fool’s ambition down utterly. ‘In order to live with Ana for the duration of her life, he took buckthorn potion. He has not been an immortal for two weeks or more. In your little bag, lady, you hold merely a mortal soul, as short of life as the rest of us.’
‘But he is Faeran,’ Severine screeched in dismay, her life-long vision crumpling at the edges just as Ana’s soul had done when she had been disillusioned. As Liam’s soul had done when he died.
‘Yes, lady,’ Kholi tried to stand tall over her as the garotte dug deeper and deeper, cutting close to his windpipe and the precious life-giving blood vessels in his neck. He girded himself, gathering strength into his deep voice. ‘But his soul is mortal. As
plainly mortal as you or I.’
Severine’s face flushed. She crushed the bag to her chest feeling the glacial cold seep through the fabric. But if Liam’s soul was mortal, would it be so frigid and would the syphon have sucked out a mortal soul? No, the Raji lies. It’s an execrable trick, some insensible way for the filth to get back at me for killing his friend. She turned toward Kholi and studied him for a moment and then smiled. ‘You lie. Luther, kill him.’
Kholi began to struggle as the garrotte tightened. Severine, not wanting to see blood spilled, began to walk away. But as she climbed over a root of the waterbeech she heard a bubbling scream as the Raji yelled, ‘You’ll find out!’
***
Oh my faithful reader, grief freezes my mind as much as that chamois bag froze Severine’s hands. Pack away these books quickly and move on away from it all. See the soft taupe butterfly with the gold trimmed wings. Lift the wing and there, another journal. And then follow the shooting gold stars to the clouds, stitched with metal thread in excruciating trellis stitch. My fingers bled... a form of penury you see. In amongst the clouds, a further book.
I have no words to speak to you at this moment. Read on.
Chapter Thirty Six
The kettle had boiled dry twice as Adelina waited for the men to return. On a whim, she took out the robe from the drawers, tapped it with the wand and then hung it from a hook against one wall. She sat gazing at it and then took a piece of paper and some charcoal and began to sketch the gown with its panels, labelling each panel and then drawing them larger and in more detail as she began to sequence her stumpwork designs around the robe, always looking for something to link each piece to the next. It was with satisfaction that she sat back after drawing a flight of bees between one element and the next. Yes, that was it. The vital link defined; more and more little gold and black bees flying from leaf to tree.
